


The Date

by Squishney_Lamppost



Series: 2-part Sprace [2]
Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Albert is bad at video games, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Fluff, Just some boys on a date!, M/M, Racetrack is a dumbass, Spot has a motorcycle, a good ol gay time, and September by Earth Wind and Fire, includes pancakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 14:53:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17469683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squishney_Lamppost/pseuds/Squishney_Lamppost
Summary: After winning a bet, Racetrack now has a date with the feared King of Brooklyn, Spot Conlon. Featuring motorcycle rides, a game of twenty questions, and September by Earth, Wind, and Fire.(Sequel to The Poker Game) (Can be read as a stand alone)





	The Date

Race’s room looked like a disaster. Well, like more of a disaster than usual. He was rushing around the room throwing clothes everywhere, while a voice from the computer open on his bed made comments.

“Nah, that one isn’t nice enough. Whoa, that one is too nice, where’d you get that? Race, those look like PJs.” Race glared at the computer.

“Kath, you’re supposed to be helping me, not insulting my entire wardrobe!” He said. Katherine laughed from the other side of the computer screen, having already spent twenty minutes to help Race pick out the perfect outfit for his date with Spot.

“Tell him to wear that blue collared one with the checkers, that one’s good!” Another voice rang out from behind the computer. Race furrowed his brows.

“Davey?” he asked. Davey’s face popped into frame from behind Katherine, and he gave a little wave. Race looked around in confusion. “What the hell is Davey doing at your house Kath?”

“No, I’m at Davey’s house,” Kath said. Race frowned in confusion.

“Why are you at Davey’s house?” Race asked, no longer looking at clothes and instead tilting his head at the computer.

“I’m not here for Davey, I’m here for Davey’s far better looking sister,” Katherine said.

“Hey!” Davey said from the back. Katherine ignored him, as did Race.

“Okay, so where is this far better looking sister of Davey’s?” Race asked.

“She’s in the living room,” Katherine said, looking towards the door. A faint “yesssss” came from Katherine’s side of the screen, muffled through the door and presumably coming from the living room, as it sounded like Sarah. “I think she’s playing some video game or something, sounds like she’s winning.”

“Oh, cool. Anyway, what was Davey saying about that collared shirt?” Race asked.

Davey came up closer to the camera. “Why are you asking Kath for help anyway? Where’s Albert, can’t he help?” He said. Race shook his head.

“I would never trust Albert with clothing, he has terrible fashion sense,” Race replied.

“HEY! I HAVE GREAT FASHION SENSE!” A voice shouted from somewhere in Race’s house. Davey and Katherine shared a confused look before Katherine burst out laughing.

“Wait, is Albert there?” Davey asked.

“Yeah, he’s in my living room getting his ass kicked playing some video game,” Race said.

“I TAKE OFFENSE TO THAT!” Albert yelled back, followed by a groan of defeat as Albert presumably died in game. “THIS SJGAY420 IS TOO GOOD!”

Katherine’s eyes widened at that, and she started laughing again. Davey and Race looked at her, very confused at the source of her laughter. She held up her hand and took some deep breaths, before saying in between giggles, “Just wait one second.”

Katherine turned and called out to Sarah. “HEY BABE, WHO ARE YOU PLAYING?”

“SOME NOOB NAMED REDROBINYUM69, WHY DO YOU ASK?” Sarah shouted back. Race finally got the joke and started laughing along with Katherine, Davey still looking lost in the background.

“I… don’t get it,” Davey said. Race tried to catch his breath, speaking in chunks.

“She… Oh my god… Sarah is kicking Albert’s ass… and he doesn’t even know… priceless!” Race said, him and Katherine still giggling about it.

“YES! VICTORY!” was shouted by Sarah at the same time Albert yelled, “ARE YOU KIDDING?” This sent Katherine and Race back into fits of laughter

Moments later, Sarah entered the room with Katherine and Davey, a bounce in her step. She plopped down next to Katherine and planted a kiss on her cheek, causing Katherine to flush just barely and smile. She turned to her girlfriend and gave her a peck on the lips. Sarah giggled.

“Ugh, stop being so cute in my vicinity!” Davey complained.

“Davey, this is my room,” Sarah replied. Davey narrowed his eyes but didn’t say anything more. Sarah turned towards the screen and noticed Race. “Hey Racetrack, what’s up?” Sarah said.

“Trying to find an outfit for my date tonight,” Race said. Suddenly, Race’s door flew open.

“WHAT! A DATE?” Albert said, bursting into Race’s room.

“Yeah Albo, a date, maybe you were too busy losing at whatever game you were playing to notice,” Race replied easily, looking around for the blue checkered shirt Davey had suggested. Albert pouted at Race.

“It’s not my fault, that SJGay420 guy was way OP!” Albert complained. Sarah’s eyes bulged at hearing the familiar name.  
“Hold up. You’re RedRobinYum69?” She asked. Albert’s head snapped over to the screen. He blinked twice. Took a deep breath. And then.

“ARE YOU TELLING ME I LOST TO SARAH FREAKIN JACOBS!” He shouted. Sarah just began to laugh, almost wheezing as she wiped a tear from her eye. Albert started to walk dramatically around Race’s room, ranting about video games and stepping over the clothes strewn about the floor. Katherine just watched it all unfold in amusement, and Davey, as usual, looked slightly confused in the background.

“Everyone shut up about Albert sucking at video games!” Race said, ignoring Albert sputtering about how he didn’t suck at video games (but he did). “I found the shirt!” Race held up a nice blue checkered shirt triumphantly in the air. Katherine clapped and Sarah cheered. Albert continued to pout at Race. “Now I just need to find those pants that make my butt look good and we’re set,” Race said, throwing more clothes out of drawers and off shelves. Albert rolled his eyes and walked over to Race.

“Who are you even going on a date with? I haven’t seen you express interest towards anyone at school,” Albert said.

“He doesn’t go to our school,” Race answered easily. Albert tilted his head.

“Do I know him?” he asked. Race rubbed the back of his neck as pulled a pair of jeans out of a drawer and threw them across the room.

“Yeah, I mean I think you know of him, he’s one of Jack’s friends, ya know?” Race said, avoiding the question.

“Okay, so who is he?” Albert pressed. Race pursed his lips as he stood up all the way.

“Uhhh… Spot Conlon?”

Albert froze for a moment. Then he yelled. “WHAT!?! SPOT CONLON?!? ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?!? HE’S LIKE, A GANG LEADER OR SOMETHING! HE’S GONNA ROB YOU! HE’S GONNA KILL YOU! I MEAN COME ON RACE! KING OF BROOKLYN?!?” Albert continued his pacing from earlier, hands thrown up wildly in the air as he described the scary Spot Conlon. Race knew that he wasn’t Spot’s biggest fan, especially because his boyfriend, Finch, was kind of scared of Spot. And Finch was cool as a cucumber. If Finch was scared of him, that told Albert that Spot must be at least a first degree murderer. Albert ran his hands through his hair, face red. Suddenly, Sarah spoke up through the screen.

“Um, what’s the huge deal with Spot Conlon?” She asked. Albert dramatically turned towards the camera.

“You don’t know about Spot Conlon? King of Brooklyn? Who will soak you five ways from Sunday if you look at him wrong and has probably at least murdered someone or maybe been in a gang? Who is _apparently_ going out with Racetrack tonight for who knows why?” Albert said. Katherine scoffed at his spiel.

“Those are all just far-fetched tales, Albert. Come on, he plays cards with Jack, he isn’t a murderer!” Albert got closer to the screen.

“That we know of,” he said in a low voice. Katherine looked unimpressed. Albert turned back to Race.

“How the hell did you even get a date with that guy anyway?” He asked. Race smiled.

“I won it in a bet.” Albert looked at Race incredulously. Race just turned back to his pants drawer.

“That’s it, Race is gonna die, say your farewells now everyone,” Albert said, defeated, as he flopped down on the bed next to the computer.

“Albert, it costs zero dollars to stop being a drama queen,” Sarah said. Albert squawked at that, but had no retort.

“YES! Nice booty jeans have been found!” Race shouted, holding up his pants for the world to see.

“Congrats, now put them on, isn’t he coming in like five minutes?” Katherine asked. Race picked up his phone and checked the time.

“OH SHIT YOU’RE RIGHT!” He shouted, then threw his phone at Albert (“ow.”) and struggled with his pants, almost falling over at least three times, but somehow not quite losing it. He then quickly tried to zip up the fly, and strangely, the zipper getting caught on the jeans was what caused Race to fall over. Katherine laughed, Sarah facepalmed and Davey looked concerned. Albert didn’t react, as this was standard Racetrack behavior. Race popped up off the floor, his pants problems seeming to be solved, and he brushed his blonde curls away from his face.

“How do I look?” He asked.

“You look great Race! I would recommend putting a comb through your hair but I doubt you own one,” Katherine said. Race stuck his tongue out at Katherine, turning his head when he heard his phone chime. He walked over to the bed and picked it up off of Albert, reading the most recent message.

“He’s outside! With a motorcycle!” Race bounced up and down excitedly. “Thanks for the fashion help, see you losers later!” Race said to the skype screen.

“Bye Racetrack, have fun!” Sarah said.

“Tell us what happens!” Katherine said. And just as Race was closing the computer, he also heard a concerned, “don’t get murdered!” from Davey. Race slipped on his shoes by the bedroom door and opened it, looking back at Albert, who was still lying on the bed.

“Albert, I promise not to get murdered,” he said.

“You better not, cause then I’d have to avenge you, and fight Spot Conlon, and then I’d also die and then where would we be,” Albert grumbled. Race smiled.

“We’d be sipping drinks by a pool in Hell together!” He cheered. He saw Albert smile at that, and figured he would be fine.

“Yeah yeah, go have fun.” Albert made a shooing motion towards the door. Race gave him one last look, and headed out into the living room. He carded his fingers through his wild hair one more time in the reflection of a mirror near the front door. Satisfied, he stepped out. This was going to be a good date.

\-------------------------------------------------

Race excitedly waved to Spot as he walked down the steps of his apartment to the street. Spot was sitting on his motorcycle, wearing a black leather jacket with dark jeans and a red tank top with black stripes. _Did this guy ever wear shirts with sleeves?_ Race thought. And then he remembered how good Spot’s arms looked and decided he didn’t care. Spot looked up and smiled just a little bit. It was barely a smile, and it was likely no one else would have thought it was, but Race saw how his eyes brightened up, and smiled back.

“Hey Spotty boy, ready to go?” Race said as he got to the motorcycle. Spot threw him a helmet.

“Don’t call me Spotty,” he said, no real bite behind it. Race smiled cheekily.

“Alright Spotty, whatever you say. Now, I’m starving, so it’s time for some Italian food!” Race cheered. Spot rolled his eyes fondly. He hadn’t known Race for long, but he couldn’t help soften up around his cheerful and amusing attitude.

“Where we goin’ Racer?” Spot asked, putting on his helmet.

“Ya know where 43rd is? Take a left on the street right after it then take a right,” Race replied. Spot nodded and Race put on his helmet and wrapped his arms around Spot. He could hear Spot’s heartbeat through his back. The motorcycle revved and Race smiled, jittering slightly with excitement.

“Ready, Racer?” Spot called. Race squeezed him as a yes, and then they were off.

Race had never been on a motorcycle, and he decided that as long as Spot was there for him to hold on to, that is was the best. He felt the wind rushing on his arms and ruffling his shirt. He looked up to see the city flying by, lights blurring together in the late evening glow that faded into the horizon. He rested his head on Spots shoulder as they navigated the city streets, taking turns occasionally. Eventually, the motorcycle slowed to a stop in front of a restaurant with fancy cursive writing on the window. Spot turned off the bike and pulled off his helmet. Though Race didn’t want to, he let go of Spot waist.

“Uh, Racer, is this the place?” Spot asked, seeming confused. Race pulled off his helmet and looked at the restaurant. His eyes flickered to the darkened windows and the closed sign in the window.

_You’ve gotta be kidding me._

“I swear, Maria said that it would be open today! Or maybe she said next week? But still, I’m her cousin, she could have at least called me! Or texted me! I’m her favorite cousin! Probably! This is truly a disaster! Betrayal! Can you believe this?” Race turned to Spot, who had been watching Race’s rant about his cousin’s restaurant with amusement, smiling at Race’s constant changing of tone and mood as he rambled on.

“I’m sure we can find somewhere else to eat, Racetrack,” Spot said. Race pouted.

“But I told you Italian food!” Race whined. Spot huffed a laugh at Race’s dramatics.

“Race, I don’t care where we went to eat, anywhere with you is fine.” Well that made Race stop his pouting.

“Did the toughest guy in Brooklyn, accused murderer, Spot Conlon, just say the softest thing I’ve ever heard?” Race said, throwing a hand to his heart.

“Accused murderer?”

“I cannot believe I have already captured the heart of Spot Conlon while simultaneously ruining the date I won from him!” Spot rolled his eyes. Race really was a handful.

“Alright drama queen, I said one nice thing. And that’s the last nice thing your dumbass will hear.” Race mocked wiping away a tear.

“Spot, I’m hurt by your cruelty! I thought you loved me!”

“No,” Spot deadpanned.

“Wow, my heart has already been broken by Spot Conlon. I’ll weep over your pictures while I play our song in the background,” Race said, falling over onto Spot’s shoulders. Spot smirked and revved the motorcycle, causing Race to yell before falling backwards and scrambling to grab Spot’s back, eventually holding on for dear life, the helmet forgotten on the empty street. Spot outright laughed at his, throwing his head back. Race felt it in Spot’s chest as he held him, and decided it was the best sound in the world.

“Okay, we must continue this date not in front of a closed restaurant run by my traitor cousin. I have the perfect place to go,” Race said, picking up his helmet off the street.

“Alright, where?” Spot said.

“It’s a surprise, just go left at the end of the street, keep going until 32nd, take a right, then take a left,” Race said. He then put the helmet on his head as Spot nodded.

“Let’s hope this surprise isn’t as bad as the last one,” Spot said, putting his own helmet on.

“You can’t see it but under my helmet I’m frowning. You’ve broken my heart yet again,” Race replied. Spot snorted.

“I wonder how many times I’ll break your heart before dessert?” Spot said, revving the engine.

“Well, you’re at two so far.”

“Good to know.”

 

They sped off into the New York streets once again.

\-------------------------------------------------

“STOP! WE’RE HERE!” Race yelled, squeezing Spot to let him know. Spot slowed down and stopped in front of a new restaurant, taking off his helmet. He closed his eyes and pursed his lips, taking in a deep breath. He looked like Albert right before Albert ranted. But Race saw a lingering smile on the corners of his mouth.

“Racetrack. Is this really where we’re going for dinner?” Spot said.

“Yup, it’s open until like, 11, so I figured it was perfect,” Race said, taking off his helmet and stepping off the motorcycle. Spot opened his eyes.

“Ya know what? I think this is the perfect place for a date like ours.” Spot parked the motorcycle and stepped off it, following Race into the IHOP.

Race opened the doors like he was walking into a castle, where he was the king. Spot followed him, hands in pockets, and looked around the restaurant. There weren’t many people, which was expected in a breakfast place at 7 in the evening. Race sat down at a table and Spot sat down with him, both picking up menus.

“Well, if we can’t have Italian food, I’m getting the best pancakes money can buy!” Race declared.

“So why are we at IHOP?” Spot asked.

“I meant that my money could buy. I may be good at poker, but I’m not rich enough for whatever gold pancakes the millionaires eat,” Race said, before slapping the menu back on the table. “This one! Double blueberry pancakes baby!” Spot smiled at Race, before looking back at the menu.

“I think I’ll just get the short stack,” Spot said, setting his menu down much less dramatically.

“You and your pancakes are twins!” Race said. When Spot tilted his head, confused, Race smiled devilishly. “You’re both short stacks.”

Spot groaned and put his head on the table. “Race, the distance between us is not long enough that I can’t punch you.”

“But Spotty, you would never hurt my beautiful face!” Spot looked up at Race. Yeah, so maybe he did have a beautiful face. But he wasn’t about to tell Race that.

“I think a broken nose would actually improve the look,” Spot said.

“Spot! That’s three broken hearts! I am torn! In despair!” Race gestured wildly, almost falling out of chair. Spot laughed a little at that, causing Race’s face to shift from dramatic despair to a look of pride. “I like your laugh.”

Spot blushed, just enough for Race to see. “I thought I just broke your heart,” he said, trying to fight off the redness in his face.

“Yeah, but I decided that I’m going to take you back, where else will I find someone to go to IHOP with me on a date?”

“I guess I’m stuck with you.”

“Damn right you are. I won this date fair and square.”

As they bantered back and forth, a waitress came over and took their orders, writing down Spot’s water and Race’s chocolate milk as well as their pancake choices, and taking their menus. Race leaned forward on the table after the waitress left, looking at Spot’s face. He noticed a light dusting of freckles across his cheeks. _Cute._

“Spotty, I declare that we should play twenty questions!” Race said, still leaning towards Spot. Spot raised his eyebrows.

“Okay, I’ll start: why do they call you Racetrack?”

“The poker and gambling made quite the name for me, and I would place bets on the races on TV even when no one else would take them. I was then deemed Racetrack for my love of horses and taking others money.” The waitress returned with the drinks, and Race took a sip of chocolate milk.

“So, I guess now I must ask, why are you Spotty?”

“It’s just Spot, not Spotty, can still break your nose,” Spot said, though the threat was empty. He sipped his own drink. “And that information is classified.” Race smiled dangerously at that.

“Sounds like a challenge. I’ll find out one day.” Race kept eye contact as he drank more chocolate milk. Spot thought he looked endearingly ridiculous.

“Next question, uh, what’s your favorite color?” Spot asked. Race rolled his eyes.

“That question is booooring, but fine, I am a fan of lighter blue, though red is pulling through as one of my recent favorites,” Race said. He didn’t mention that both times he and Spot had met, Spot had been wearing red. “My turn! If you were a cloud, what shape would you be?”

Spot’s face was priceless to Race, completely thrown off by the odd question thrown at him. “What shape would I be? What kind of question is that?”

“Spot, you can ask a question when it’s your turn,” Race answered smoothly. Spot sighed.

“Okay, I guess I would be… the Brooklyn Bridge.” Race nodded at this. “Um, what’s your favorite animal?”

“Spot, no boring questions!” Race complained. “Take two, try again!” Spot flicked Race’s face.

“Alright weirdo, how about… what is your Starbucks order?”

“Better, far better question! Well, it depends on the day. I do enjoy a good caramel frappuccino though.” With the lollipops, pancakes, chocolate milk, and caramel frappuccino, Spot was beginning to assume Race had a bit of a sweet tooth. “Next! What is your least favorite fruit?”

“Least favorite fruit? Uh…. Kiwi? Yeah Kiwi. They’re hairy and strange. Not a fan.” Race laughed at this response, and Spot took in his laugh, his smile. _He really is pretty,_ Spot thought to himself. Race had curly blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and a rosy complexion that was made to hold his mischievous smiles. Spot didn’t realize he was staring until Race interjected.

“Like what ya see Spotty?” Race said. Spot blushed again, a bit more than last time, but kept his face neutral.

“You wish. My question is, hm, uh… oh, how about your favorite kind of dog?”

“Less interesting but I do enjoy dogs so I’ll take it. I really like golden retrievers. And speaking of dogs, you remind me of a chihuahua,” Race replied. Spot sputtered at this.

“What? Why?” He managed

“Well, you’re tiny and angry!” Race said with utmost confidence.

“Punching distance Racer, remember the punching distance. And if we’re assigning dog breeds, then you’re a poodle. Curly hair, high maintenance.” Race looked very offended at this.

“A poodle! If anything I am a labradoodle at least! Four broken hearts before we’ve even been served our dinner!”

“I’m aiming high, maybe six by the end of the night,” Spot said. Race gasped at this.

“I cannot believe I am on a date with the rudest man in New York City!” As Race lamented about his fourth broken heart of the night, their pancakes were served. Race created practically a lake of syrup on his plate, happily enjoying the blueberry pancakes at breakneck pace. Spot ate his much slower, laughing slightly as Race attempted to shovel pancakes in his mouth without getting syrup everywhere. They continued their question game as they ate, with questions such as “How would you rob a bank?” and “What unsuspecting animal would you raise an army of and why?” They got through most of the questions. By question nineteen, their plates had long been abandoned. Spot had relaxed a lot more, laughing more often at Race’s jokes and smiling more, feeling more comfortable with Race. And Race, well, he had fallen just a bit more in love with Spot, at his deadpan and weird answers, his beautiful laugh, and when Spot took off his jacket, he re-fell in love with his arms. Before Race could ask the last question, something interrupted him.

Race had frozen at the table. Spot furrowed his eyebrows, concerned about Race’s strange change in mood.

“You okay Racer?” He asked. But Race wasn’t listening. At least, not to Spot. Race stood up out of his seat quickly and suddenly shouted:

“DO YOU REMEMBER! THE 21ST NIGHT OF SEPTEMBER!”

And off he went. Race began dancing next to the table, as Spot realized what was going on. It was 10 at night and the IHOP employees had decided to play September by Earth, Wind, and Fire. Of course, Race naturally had to get up and sing along.

Race belted the lyrics, dancing in a way that was just so _Racetrack_ that Spot couldn’t help the smile overtaking his face. It was sloppily elegant, looking like if he wanted to he could dance some fancy piece, but that the song playing deserved better. He moved to the music with his eyes closed, waving his arms around and jumping in circles. It was stupid and adorable and endearing and absolutely the most beautiful thing Spot had ever seen. Race’s closed eyes were crinkled with the smile on his face, and his curls bounced along to the dance. He didn’t care who was watching or that it was an IHOP. He just did it, as he did everything, like asking out the toughest guy in Brooklyn and beating him in poker all in one swoop. _He’s amazing,_ Spot thought. And along with that, another though overtook his mind.

_I think this is what falling in love feels like._

The thought scared Spot. This was their first date! He knew he wasn’t head over heels, but it didn’t feel like nothing either. It wasn’t huge, it wasn’t magical, it was just the smallest bit of love had broken into Spot’s heart as he watched Race dance his heart out in IHOP. However, the fear all melted away as Race opened his eyes, looked at Spot, and held out a hand.

Spot refused at first, giving Race a look that said _Really?_ But Race didn’t care, and grabbed his arm, pulling him out of his chair. He linked their hands together and started to push them back and forth, finding a rhythm in the song as the chorus hit.

“Hey hey hey! Aaa eee yaaa! Say do you remember! Aaa eee yaaa! Dancing in September! Aaa eee yaa!” Race looked expectantly at Spot, who’s frown at being pulled up to dance was beginning to fade into a smile.

“Never was a cloudy day,” He finished the line. Race cheered and they continued their dance, Race pulling Spot closer as the song continued, until they were close enough to kiss. Race looked into Spot’s eyes, melting under his gaze. He really loved Spot’s dark brown eyes. And his smile. And his freckles. And his laugh. And his arms. His everything.

So there they were, two dorks in the middle of IHOP, swinging back and forth and laughing as the music played, slowly falling in love, just a little bit.

\-------------------------------------------------

After they paid, Race and Spot left the IHOP and returned to the motorcycle, still having an easy conversation. Race was complaining about how he couldn’t have a lollipop with the motorcycle helmet, Spot was laughing at his plight. As they sped through the New York City streets once again, Race rested his head against Spot’s back and closed his eyes, holding him close.

When they reached Race’s apartment, Spot got off his motorcycle and offered to walk him to the door. Race pulled a lollipop out of his pocket, sticking it in his mouth as Spot rolled his eyes. They walked slowly to the door, holding hands, not wanting the night to end.

“Spotty! I just remembered, I never asked my final question!” Race said.

“Fire away Racer,” Spot replied.

“What is your favorite flavor of lollipop?” Race asked. Spot grinned at the question.

“Which ever one you’re having,” he replied.

“Why’s that?” Race said, taking the sucker out of his mouth to speak. Before he could put it back, Spot had pulled him down for a kiss.

This was different from the quick kiss in the parking lot at their first meeting. This one was slow and sweet and made Race absolutely positively melt. Race cupped Spot’s face in his hands and Spot tangled Race’s blond curls in his fingers. After an amount of time that neither boy bother to count, they pulled away, breathing slightly heavier.

“Cherry again,” Spot said. Race didn’t reply, but he smiled. “I know it was twenty question and not twenty-one questions, but I have one more.”

“Okay rule-breaker, ask away,” Race said.

“Can we go out again? Maybe a movie or something?” Spot asked. Race pulled him in for a quick kiss on the lips, laughing slightly.

“You didn’t even need to ask, of course! Maybe the movie theater will have better cuisine that IHOP,” Race joked.

“I doubt it, those pancakes were pretty good, plus you can’t beat the soundtrack they’ve got going,” Spot said back. Race laughed again at that.

“I should probably go inside,” He said, a little sadly.

“Of course, I should get going too. But I’ll text you?”

“Not if I text you first!” Spot laughed at that as he gave Race one more quick kiss.

“Goodnight!” He called, walking back to his bike.

“Night Spotty!” Race yelled back. He watched Spot drive away into the night and sighed with a soft smile on his face. He opened the door in a dreamy state, falling into the living room. He would’ve stayed like that all night if some redhead wasn’t sitting on his couch.

“What the- Albert? What the hell are you still doing in my house?” Race asked. Albert didn’t even look up from the TV, mashing buttons on his controller.

“You have a bigger TV plus your controller is so much better, the A button on mine is stuck. Your parents are asleep, so are the younger ones. Who knows about your older siblings. Anyway, how was the date? I see you’re still alive, so that’s good,” Albert said. Race flopped down on the couch next to him. The lovestruck look returned to Race’s face.

“We danced around in the middle of IHOP. It was amazing,” He said. Albert hit a wrong button as he reacted to Race’s statement.

“You danced around IHOP with Spot freakin’ Conlo- OH COME ON SARAH!” Albert yelled at the screen. Race just laughed and closed his eyes, dreaming about pancakes and Spot.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you so much for reading! I know it's taken me like a month to actually finish this, so sorry about the wait, this is the longest one shot I have ever written. But I had a great time writing. I doubt I'll continue this series as I have no idea where it would go next, but if anyone has any suggestions, hit me up! Any prompts or anything would be awesome! Thank you again for reading, have a nice day!
> 
> (My tumblr is Santa-Ge if you want to talk!)


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